The workman took the tobacco-pouch in an ill-used way, stared at it, stared at the stranger smoking so contentedly by him, frowned, muttered something uncommonly like an oath, and ended by beginning to fill his pipe. "Don't swear," said the traveller, taking his pipe from his lips for a moment, but only to replace it, and puff away like a practised smoker. "Shall if I like," said the other, savagely. "What have yow got to do wi' it?" "Don't," said the traveller; "what's the good? It's weak and stupid. If you don't like a man, hit him. Don't swear." The workman stared as these strange doctrines were enunciated; then, after a moment's hesitation, he finished filling his pipe, struck a match which refused to light, threw it down impatiently, tried another, and another, and another, with the same result, and then uttered a savage oath. "At it again," said the traveller, coolly, thrusting a hand into his pocket. "Why, what a dirty-mouthed fellow you are." "Yow wean't be happy till I've made your mouth dirty," said the workman, savagely; "and you're going the gainest way to get it." "Nonsense!" said the traveller, coolly, "Why didn't you ask me for a light?" He handed his box of vesuvians, and it was taken in a snatchy way. One was lighted, and the few puffs of smoke which followed seemed to have a mollifying effect on the smoker, who confined himself to knitting his brows and staring hard at the stranger, who now took off his hat to let the fresh soft breeze blow over his hot forehead, while he gazed down at the little town, with its square-towered church nestling amidst a clump of elms, beyond which showed a great blank, many-windowed building, with tall chimney shafts, two or three of which were vomiting clouds of black smoke nowise to the advantage of the landscape. "I thowt you was a parson," said the young workman at last, in a growl a trifle less surly. "Eh?" said the other, starting from a reverie, "parson? Yes, to be sure I am." "Methody?" "No." "Ranter, p'raps?" "Oh, no, only when I get a little warm." "What are you, then?" "Well, first of all," said the traveller, quietly, "you'd better answer my question. Is that Dumford?" The workman hesitated and frowned. It seemed like giving in--being defeated--to answer now, but the clear grey eyes were fixed upon him in a way that seemed to influence his very being, and he said at last, gruffly, "Well, yes, it is Doomford; and what if it is?" "Oh, only that I'm the new vicar." The workman puffed rapidly at his pipe, his face assuming a look of dislike, and at last he ejaculated, "Ho!" "Like that tobacco?" said the new vicar, quietly. There was a pause, during which the workman seemed to be debating within himself whether he should answer or not. At last he condescended to reply, "'taint bad." "No; it's really good. I always get the best."